Follow Me Into Darkness
by Dana Keylits
Summary: Still reeling following his daughters kidnapping, Castle can't cope, and it could mean the end of his relationship with Kate. Disclaimer: The characters belong to Andrew W. Marlowe, not to me, though I wish they did because I would definitely have them kissing with the lights on!
1. Prologue

**Follow me into Darkness  
By Dana Keylits**

**A/N: I've had this idea for a break-up, then make-up, fic for a long time but couldn't think of how to write it until now. This story is a three-shot w/prologue and epilogue. It's going to hurt, but for those that know me, you know I am a shipper at heart! Keep that in mind as you read! If you are at all squeamish about angsty, angry, rough sex, then maybe you should pass on this one. Or, just pick it up when Chapter Two comes out. For the rest of you, I hope you like it! Mad thanks to Kristy, Liv, and CB! **

* * *

**Prologue**

She sits at the desk in her tiny home office, staring at the blank screen on the computer, her fingers idly poised over the keyboard. The late afternoon sun spills in through her window, casting a spotlight on the dancing, swirling dust particles that waltz around the small room. She has just spent the best part of the afternoon trying to compose an email to him. She wants to pour her heart out, desperately wishes she could just tell him to come back, that it's all okay, that they'll figure it out and they can be together. But she can't find the words. She can't find the _right_ words.

That's because there _are_ no right words. There are no right words that will ever make up for the way they ended things. No right words that will ever heal them, will ever allow them to forget what was said that night, what was done, how they'd hurt each other. How they'd deeply, fundamentally _hurt_ each other.

And, there are no right words that will allow her to accept what he's doing _now_.

And, with whom.

So, she sits, stares at the screen, and then reaches over to turn it off. Looking at it is killing her. She reaches behind her for the bottle of scotch, pours another glass and downs it. It doesn't erase the memory of that awful night, of the painful weeks that led up to that night, or of the agonizing weeks that followed. But it rounds the corners a bit, smoothes out the rough lines.

And, for now, that's enough.


	2. The Break

**Follow Me Into Darkness  
****By Dana Keylits**

**Chapter One: The Break**

**Six Weeks Earlier...**

He was still troubled, dark and moody, unpredictable. And, Kate had tried to go there with him, to let him be, to let him heal from Alexis' kidnapping as he needed. But days had dragged into weeks, and now weeks were turning into months, and he was still dark and distant. Keeping her at arms length while holding onto his daughter with an iron fist.

They had barely been together in those weeks, and the times they had been together had been invaded by the presence of Alexis, who Castle had insisted move back home with him so he could keep better track of her. He'd been mostly unwilling to spend time at Kate's loft, and the few times that he grudgingly had, he was distracted and fidgety, checking on his daughters whereabouts every half hour; his mind, his body, never fully _with_ her.

And, there had been no intimacy, either. Or, at least, not a lot, and the few times they did have sex it was perfunctory, ordinary, almost rote. Not at all the heated adventurous exploration of each others bodies that it had _always_ been from the first time he'd slammed her up against his door on that rainy night so long ago; when he had _ravaged_ her with his mouth and hands, and...just _him._

At first it seemed normal, right, necessary. They were both reeling from what had happened, and even though they weren't physical with each other sexually, he'd let her hold him, cradle him, comfort him at night as they'd slept, quite literally _slept_, together.

But even that was diminishing now, and in the last several weeks they'd barely even touched each other. Every time she'd passed him, sat beside him, stood near him, she'd longed to reach out, to connect, to touch. But he was rigid, unyielding, cold, unable to accept her overtures of compassion, instead building a wall between them - and a fortress around Alexis.

At first, Alexis had humored her father, after all she had been afraid, too. But, his possessiveness and overprotection had gotten to be too much for her, and she'd insisted on spending the Spring semester in London. It had been a huge fight between them, with Alexis almost walking out, saying she was going to disappear if he didn't give her some freedom. So, he'd relented, allowing her to go, even paying for the trip, as long as she'd agree to the bodyguards he was sending with her, and, he'd insisted, that Martha escort her.

They'd left a week ago, and since then, his mood had turned even darker.

He was different at the precinct, too. Less jovial, less with the crazy CIA theories, more intense with suspects. Kate had had to pull him back a few times during interrogations, his questions, his tone and demeanor becoming increasingly aggressive, increasingly hostile.

And today, well _today_ had been the last straw for Kate. Today he'd crossed a line. He'd crossed an _important_ line and she'd had no choice but to send him home. She couldn't have him working cases with her if he wasn't able to control himself, or his temper, especially his _darkness_.

They'd been investigating the murder of a young woman, close to Alexis' age, which, Kate now understood she should never had allowed him to assist with given how close to home the case was for him. As they were interrogating the primary suspect, Castle lost it, grabbing the guy by the collar, practically picking him up out of his chair, and smashing his face into the interrogation room table, digging the heel of his hand into the soft flesh of the mans throat. It took the combined strength of Kate, Javi _and_ Ryan just to peel Castle off of the hapless man.

When they'd gotten him into the hallway, his face had been red with rage, his fists curled into tight white angry balls. His eyes hooded and angry, crazed, unrecognizable.

He'd scared her, _terrified_ her really, and she was afraid of who he'd become, of what he'd become capable of _doing_.

And so she'd had no other alternative but to tell him that he was done. He was _finished_ as her partner. Until he could get his shit together, he couldn't work with her anymore.

He'd defiantly shrugged Javier's hand off of his shoulder, straightened his jacket, and through gritted teeth, hissed, "Fine."

Then he simply walked out of the precinct without another word or a look back.

And now, Kate sat in her cruiser outside of his building, afraid to go up and talk to him, afraid _not_ to. She had to confront this, once and for all, this person he'd become.

Early on, at a time when he'd still let her touch him, when they could still lay naked together in his bed, she'd suggested he see a therapist. But he'd laughed it off, saying he was fine, that time would heal him. Only, Kate knew that wasn't true. From her own experiences, from her mothers death, her fathers battle with alcohol, her shooting...she knew that time alone could not heal _everything_.

But she hadn't wanted to push, and now, sitting in her idling cruiser, feeling a million miles away from him, she desperately wished she _had_.

Because now, it felt like it was too late. He was too far into the darkness.

* * *

**S**he knocked on the door. She could have used her key, but under the circumstances, she felt like she needed to knock, to do otherwise would have felt intrusive.

It took him a minute, but soon the door swung open and she was greeted by the unmistakable scent of booze.

"Beckett," he said, his blue eyes boring into her. Then he left the door open and walked back into the loft. She took that to mean she could enter, so she did, gently closing the door behind her, eying him warily, trying to get a beat on how much he'd had to drink.

He had his back to her as he stared blankly out at the darkening city from the long windows opposite her, then held his glass up, still not turning around. "You want one?" He asked, shaking the tumbler so the ice clinked against the glass. "I'm on my first, in case you're wondering, but I plan to finish that bottle up tonight, so you'd better get yourself a glass while you still can."

"Castle," Kate stepped towards him.

"Don't." He ordered.

She didn't know if he meant don't come near him, or don't talk. So she stood there, rooted to her spot, silently waiting, her weight shifting from one foot to the other, then back again.

After a full minute passed, she could see his shoulders slump, heard the unmistakable, and now familiar, tortured sigh tumble past his lips, and he turned around. His eyes hazy and unfocused, his face a mask of pain. "Why are you here, Kate?"

She took another step forward. "I'm worried about you."

He snorted, taking a generous swig from the tumbler of scotch.

"Castle. I want you to see a therapist."

He shook his head.

"Castle. You need help."

He moved away from the window and then leaned against the back of the couch, cradling the tumbler of scotch in both hands as they lay against his lap. "Kate, I'll be fine. I just..."

"You need help. What happened today..."

He looked up, finally meeting her eyes. "What happened today was a mistake. And, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

At least he was talking. She stepped closer. One step, two, then three. He didn't move away, which she took as a good sign. "Castle, what happened today is only a symptom of what's happening inside of you. You need to talk to someone."

"I'm talking to _you_."

"I can't help you. I'm too invested. You need a therapist, Castle. Someone who can be impartial."

He downed the last of his scotch, then suddenly reached out for her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her roughly against him.

She gasped, startled by the sudden movement, but then snaked her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. This had been the first physical contact they'd had in over a week. She took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of him. then rested her cheek against his hair while he buried his face in her neck, his stubble rough against her skin. She moaned in agony as she felt the tickle of his lips, his tongue, as he nuzzled her throat.

"Maybe this is what I need," he whispered, his hand moving down the slope of her ass.

She felt dizzy and disoriented, hungry, afraid, but impassioned at the same time. She let herself melt into him, the energy between them subtly charged but strained, it was confusing her.

His mouth landed on hers and he forced his tongue past her lips in a rough, crazed kiss, biting her lip, his hand cradling the back of her head, pressing her against him.

It took all of her strength - she so wanted to be with him, to feel his skin against hers, to feel their bodies vibrate together, to feel him thick inside of her - but she put both hands against his chest and pushed away. In a hushed voice, she said, "Castle. I want to be with you, but this isn't going to solve anything. We need to talk, you need to talk..."

He straightened up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his jaw clenching, then marched past her and into the dining room to the drink cart. He poured another scotch. "Sure you don't want one? It'd be a shame to get drunk all by myself."

"Castle," Kate pleaded, following him, but keeping her distance.

"Kate. Fuck. Just stop, please? Just...please?"

"No, Castle..."

"Kate, if I'd wanted a sermon, I'd have gone to church," he interrupted.

"That might not be a bad idea." She folded her arms.

He snorted, turned around and took a sip of his scotch, glaring at her. "When was the last time _you_ saw the inside of a church!? Do you even _believe_ in God, Kate?"

"What? What does that have to do..?"

"You call out his name a lot, you know, when we're," He took another sip, coughing because it was too _big_ of a sip, then wiped his mouth again with the back of his hand. "...when we're fucking. You say his name a lot, more than you say _mine_, even, but I have this feeling you don't actually _believe_ in God, do you?"

"Castle what are you doing? Why...?"

"I'm guessing you stopped believing in God when your mom was killed, right? Tell me about that Kate, tell me about how you stopped believing in God. I should write that down," He looked around as if searching for a pen and paper, patting the breast pocket of his shirt. "...it's good stuff, you know. Good back story for Nikki Heat."

"Stop it!" Kate demanded, her eyes narrowed, her heart racing. He was trying to hurt her, he was lashing out, deflecting, all of the things _she_ used to do. "Stop it right now, Castle. Or..."

"Or what? Kate? What? You'll leave me? Oh, wait. You already did that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that what happened today? When you kicked me out of the precinct?"

"You think I left you?"

"Didn't you?"

"No!"

He nodded, "Ah, my bad. When you threw me out on my ear, I thought that's what you were doing."

"Castle," She crossed the room and stood in front of him, close, very close, she could smell the scotch on his breath, practically _hear_ his heartbeat. "I threw you out of the precinct because you were spinning out of control. You've gone dark..."

"That's something you know about, isn't it, Kate? Darkness?"

She stared up at him, her eyes on fire, warning him. _Don't push it. Don't go too far. I will be patient for only so long._

"How many times have I followed _you_ into the darkness, huh?"

"It's not that I'm unwilling to follow you into the darkness, Castle."

"Bullshit. You own it, like it's all yours. _You_ are the dark and stormy one, I'm the happy-go-lucky one, the '_schools funniest kid'_, remember?"

She winced at her words being thrown back in her face. "You think I'm dark and stormy? Really?"

"Yes. But you know what? I accept that about you. I understand it. I know what it is. Hell, I even respect it."

"You respect it? You respect _what_, exactly?" She was getting angry, she knew she shouldn't, she knew he was just goading her, but she was getting _angry_.

"Your mother got herself killed in a dirty back ally when you were nineteen, and you wear that like a badge of honor, Kate! But hey, it's _worked_ for you. Made you a _great_ detective, hell, it's worked for _me_, too. Earned me a hell of a lot of money with Nikki Heat and all, so..."

Before she could stop herself, she raised her right hand high in the air and then brought it down _hard_ across his cheek. The audible _smack_ of her hand on his face echoed throughout the loft, and they both looked stricken. She'd slapped him so hard the ache of it radiated up her arm and she had to shake her wrist to diffuse the pain, sucking in air between her teeth. She couldn't believe it, couldn't believe what she'd just done and she immediately regretted it. Hot, salty tears instantly rimming her wounded eyes.

He palmed his cheek, surprised, staring at her in disbelief. She'd never slapped him before. At least not outside of the bedroom, she hadn't.

And then he started laughing. He laughed so hard he had to set his glass down on the cart behind him, freeing both hands so he could clutch his stomach, tears streamed down his face.

This disarmed her. She didn't know what to do. She was still so angry, but now she was concerned, and she didn't know what to do. What the hell was so funny? She stared at him as he stood before her, doubled over, laughing hysterically.

And then, his laughter inexplicably abated, he straightened up and lunged at her, capturing her wrist, the hand she'd just used to slap him, and held it tightly above her head, his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, one leg between hers, pressing against her groin.

"You want to get rough, Kate?" He hissed into her ear, his lips grazing her cheek. "Because, we can do _rough_!" He smashed his mouth against hers in an angry, frenzied, probing, kiss, knocking her completely off balance.

She moaned, stumbling into him, knowing she should stop this, knowing it couldn't lead to anything good, anything loving or healing or compassionate, but she'd missed him, she'd _desperately_ missed him. Her feelings were all knotted inside and she couldn't sort them out, couldn't make sense of them, couldn't filter through them, and now she was nothing but a ball of _want_ and need and pain and desire, and so she kissed him back, biting his lip hard, so hard she produced blood and he winced, pulling away then grabbing a fist full of her hair and pulling her head back, exposing her neck where he sucked and licked, leaving a hot, wet trail up and down her throat.

When he let go of her hair, her mouth flew against his again, their tongues weaving and fighting, the raw sexual hum between them palpable, almost audible. He thrust his groin into her, his erection hard against her hip.

She shoved him backwards with her entire body, catching him off guard and he stumbled into the drink cart, sending the scotch carafe to the floor where it shattered into hundreds of sharp pieces, the amber liquid radiating out like a river, pooling in the dips and cracks of the floor.

She wrestled her wrist from his grip, and, using both hands, tore his shirt open, the opaque buttons pinging off the crimson fabric and skittering across the floor in all directions. She pulled the damaged shirt from his shoulders, his arms, letting it fall to the floor in a heap behind them.

His teeth scraped her flesh as he kissed and licked and _bit_ her, leaving marks and welts along her slender neck, his tongue laving her pulse point.

Two of the glass tumblers crashed to the floor, joining the shattered carafe in a growing pile of jagged, broken, very expensive Waterford crystal. They didn't care, they barely noticed as they grabbed and groped, pushed, shoved, licked, sucked, kissed, moaned, cried,, _shattered_-just like the glass.

He reached for the hem of her sweater and in one swift motion forced it up and over her head, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders, their mouths once again finding each other as his hands hungrily groped her breasts, shoving the fabric of her bra upwards, his thumb and forefingers painfully pinching her nipples.

She cried out, twisting her body away from him, landing one hand on his chin, pushing his face away from her as she stumbled backwards, her eyes blazing. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, panting, glaring at him, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn't know what had taken over them, what possessed them to treat each other this way, and she became inflamed, enraged, _hurt_, but also desperate, desperate to _be_ with him_._

In a sudden flurry, she tore her bra off, tossing it carelessly aside, then yanked at his belt, unbuckling it, her fingers furiously working the button, then zipper of his jeans. Her heart pounding, her breath coming in quick pants and she returned to him, pressing against him, their lips, their hands, roamed, explored, mapping each other as though in some desperate bid to memorize their bodies, as though they sensed, as though they _knew_, that this would be their last time together. Even as that conscious thought never skittered across either of their minds.

He gathered her hair in one fist and pulled her back up to him. His mouth hungrily, angrily, capturing hers in a frenzied, careless kiss.

Desperate, angry, unabashed, she reached down between them, beneath the fabric of his boxers, feeling his erection against her belly, and took him roughly into her hand.

He gasped, flinching, then shoved herbackwards and down to the hard floor, she landed roughly on her back, an audible _wumph_ passing her lips before he yanked her boots off, then tugged and tore her pants from her body. He shrugged out of his jeans, then landed on top of her, on his hands and knees, his eyes dark, hooded, stormy, taking in the full view of her naked flesh, then he leaned down and hungrily took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and suckling it, flicking his tongue against it as it grew hard and puckered, then taking it into his teeth and biting, gently at first, but then twisting it roughly upwards.

She cried out and again turned her body away from him so he had to let go. He rose up on his knees, and looked at her. Tears nakedly spilled down her cheeks as she tried to control her emotions, her face contorted in pain, in anguish, knowing what this was, knowing what it meant.

He stopped, he stopped what he was doing and he stared at her, panting, feeling like a complete piece of shit.

"Let's stop," he said.

She just stared at him, her breathing thready, her body swathed in sweat, her pupils dilated. She stared at him with furious hazel eyes. Then, almost inaudibly, without forethought or conscious thought, whispered, "No!"

She seized the hem of his boxers, pulling them down until his penis sprang free, erect and ready.

Shamefully so, he thought.

She took it into her hand, stroking it. He didn't move, only watched her as she stroked him, coaxing his erection to harden even further, until he could take it no longer and he lifted himself off of her, grabbed her panties, ripping them from her body, as she wailed and writhed beneath him, and then he hovered over her, breathless, unfocused, out of control.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Kate. So, if that's not what you want, you'd better say so now."

But, before he could make a move, before he could even wait for an answer, she swung one leg around his back, catching him off balance, flipping them, so now _his_ back was against the floor and _she_ was on top.

"You've got that ass backwards, Rick." She hissed, "Because _I'm_ gonna fuck _you,"_

She took his erection in one hand, the other hand pressed against his chest for balance, and lowered herself carefully onto him, until he filled her completely.

His face turned red and he let out a long anguished moan.

She rolled her head backwards, her long chestnut hair tickling her naked back, tears flowing freely down her cheeks; but she didn't care, and she angrily wiped them away, gripping him with the strong, practiced muscles of a Geisha, careful not to move.

She wanted to feel him inside of her, feel him _completely_ inside her, before either of them could race towards the inevitable bittersweet release that would bring this coupling to an abrupt end. So she held him inside of her, her body still, her inner muscles capturing him, her hands pinning him down, all while quiet mournful sobs shook her slender frame, betraying the conflicting emotions that churned within her like a cyclone in summer.

He moaned, his body warm and sweaty, vibrating with anticipation, with _want_ and, and..._something else_, something unnamed. He was restless beneath her, she wasn't moving, just gripping him with elastic muscles that felt like _torture _to him.

He bucked against her, panting. "Fuck! Kate! Get on with it!" Then he grabbed her ass with both hands and pumped his cock rapidly in and out of her.

She slammed both hands against his sweaty chest, looking down at him, searching the steel blue of his eyes for even a hint of who he used to be. He glared back at her, a mixture of cold and want, pain and rage. She looked away, her eyes glassed over with tears, she couldn't take it, couldn't accept it, so afraid of what was happening to him, to _them_.

He thrust passionately in and out of her, her breasts bouncing, her breath escaping in short anguished bursts. He grasped her body with furious, forceful hands, aware of her tears, but impotent to do anything about them.

She matched his rhythm, a rapid metronomic pace, the air around them filling with the sound of their bodies slapping together, their strangled moans and cries and pants.

Despite the anger, the anguish, the hurt, Kate soon felt a familiar tickle rise low in her belly-even as an unbearable pain enveloped her everywhere else. Her skin, feverish and sweaty, nevertheless broke out into tiny goose bumps as he worked her higher and higher towards climax.

He continued to grip her, his strong hands squeezing her well-toned ass, their rhythm increasing, their breath synchronizing as their bodies danced and moved, soaring to painful, pleasurable, impossible heights.

She lowered herself so her chest pressed against his, feeling his warmth, but also his guarded rigidity, as though he needed to protect himself from _her._

Her hips rocked against him quickly now, she was close, so close. She shut her eyes, stretched her arms above his head, her hair falling around his face as she braced against the floor; and in a flutter, a furious immediate release, she _came_.

He stopped moving, feeling her spasms envelop his erection, her carnal cries cutting through the silence of the room, and then he thrust himself deeply inside of her, slowly circling his hips, waiting for her orgasm to subside before he grasped her with tense arms and they flipped again, so that she was once again on her back, trapped beneath him.

She cried out, then wailed, then fell silent, wrapping her legs around him, clawing at his back as he resumed his frantic gyrations.

He moved swiftly in and out of her, his eyes closed, his hands braced against the floor beneath her shoulders, until, in a hurried, shuddered release, he let go, his orgasm temporarily demanding control of his quivering, aching, throbbing body and he emptied himself into her.

And then, with a strangled _oh God_, it was over.

He collapsed unceremoniously on top of her, his head buried in her neck before she abruptly, angrily, shoved him away. She got up from the floor, collected her clothes, and stumbled into the bathroom, her choked sobs echoing from the high ceilings of the loft.

He exhaled, and lay there, naked, staring up at the ceiling, the shards of glass from the shattered carafe cutting into the flesh of his forearms, blood pooling beneath them. He didn't care, couldn't feel it, couldn't feel anything. Didn't _want_ to feel anything.

But he knew that _she_ wanted him to, that she'd demand it, try to coax it, try to _love_ it, out of him. And, he couldn't do it, couldn't go there, couldn't let her in. It was too hard, it was too much, he was too _damaged_. He needed to create a boundary between them, he wasn't going to pull her into the black hole that had become his life and he couldn't let her know how _much_ he'd gradually come to resent her, how much he was beginning to _hate_ her, because it made no sense. Nothing was her fault, and yet, somehow, inexplicably, he blamed her.

After a minute, he reached for his boxers and jeans and pulled them on, scooting backwards until he could lean against the wall, he scrubbed at his five o'clock shadow, determined not to cry, even as the tears welled up and spilled over, running down his cheeks in a jagged angry path.

He hated himself for what had just happened. Kate didn't deserve it, even though she'd participated, he should never have allowed things to get that far. She deserved better, she deserved so _much_ better. So much more.

But _he_ couldn't give her more. All he could give her was _this_. A frantic, furious, angry fuck on the hard wood floor of his loft.

And he was determined to never let it happen again.

Twenty minutes later, Kate emerged from the bathroom, dressed, her eyes dry but bloodshot, her face schooled into an expressionless mask. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him leaning against the wall, his arms bleeding.

"Castle, your arms."

He shook his head, "They're fine."

"They're not fine, Castle." She crossed to him, kneeling beside him. "We need to clean these cuts, you still have glass..."

He jerked his arm away as though her touch had burned him, and a strangled sob escaped his lips. "I think you should go now, Kate."

Her hand hanging limply in the air where his arm had once been, her mouth open, she mutely stared at him in disbelief.

But he wouldn't look at her, wouldn't meet her gaze, as though he were afraid, or ashamed, or both.

She stood up, hovering over him, taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. She raised one arm then let it fall limply to her side. "Castle, what are we doing?"

He gulped, then whimpered, then looked up at her, his eyes rimmed with tears.

"I think we're saying goodbye."


	3. Coming Apart

**Follow Me Into Darkness  
****By Dana Keylits**

**Chapter Two: Coming Apart**

"Kate! Kate! Are you in there?" Lanie banged on the door, pressing her ear against the wood, listening for any noise at all. She turned, throwing a concerned look at Javier, "I think we should go in."

Lanie had been trying to reach Kate all night. After Javier had told her what had happened at the precinct with Castle going all Rambo on their suspect, she'd been calling her friend every half-hour. But, no answer. Not at home, not on her cell. She'd even called Castle, but he wasn't picking up either.

She knew it might be unnecessary to worry, after all, Kate was more than capable of taking care of herself, but, Lanie had a nagging feeling, a hunch, that something was wrong. So, she'd convinced Javier to stop by Kate's place on their way home from dinner.

Kate's car was parked outside, so they assumed she must be home.

Lanie reached into her purse and pulled out the spare key Kate had given her for emergencies. She slipped it into the lock and the pair stepped gingerly into the Detective's darkened apartment.

Lanie flipped on the kitchen light, spotted Kate's jacket on the floor, and the open bottle of scotch on the counter. "I'll go check the bedroom, you wait here," she instructed. Esposito nodded, wandering further into the loft and checking Kate's office, searching for any clue that something was amiss.

Lanie tentatively opened the bedroom door, it was dark save for one small lamp that had been left on by the bed, and called out, "Kate?"

No answer.

She stepped into the room and gasped when she saw a blood-stained creme-colored sweater laying on the floor, she picked it up, recognizing it immediately as the sweater Kate had worn that day. She was about to turn around and take the sweater to Javier when she heard it.

The unmistakable sounds of someone crying.

She followed the sounds to the bathroom, the door was slightly ajar, and the faint light from the bedroom spilled across the floor as Lanie widened the door opening, illuminating Kate's hunched form as she sat in the bathtub, naked and shivering, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands clutching her ankles.

"Kate," Lanie whispered, flipping on the bathroom light before crossing the room to kneel beside the tub. "Honey, are you okay?"

Kate shook her head, side-glancing at Lanie. "I don't think so," she choked.

Lanie dipped her fingers into the water to check the temperature. Kate must have been in there for hours because the water was cool. Then she noticed the unmistakable sight of blood swirling around the water and she more closely examined Kate's body.

She drew in a sharp breath, staring at the purple bruises on Kate's arms and legs, the welts on her neck, her eyes that were practically swollen shut. But, she couldn't find the source of the bleeding until she checked her friend's back. "Kate, my God, what happened?" She placed her hands on Kate's shoulders, coaxing her to face the wall so she could more closely inspect the lacerations that dotted Kate's back.

"I don't know," Kate mumbled, facing the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Must have been the broken glass from the floor. I didn't even notice it."

Lanie took a surgical glove from her purse and snapped it on her right hand, then ran her fingers over the cuts. "Kate, you still have glass embedded in your back. Honey, let me take you to the Emergency Room."

"No!"

"Kate, you need to get this taken care of."

Kate sobbed, "No, please, Lanie, can't you do it? I have a first aid kit. Can't you do it?"

Lanie sighed, her forehead creasing as she studied each of the half-dozen cuts on her friends back. They weren't deep enough to require stitches and Lanie thought she'd be able to get the glass out with a pair of tweezers.

She stroked Kate's hair with her un-gloved hand, "Okay, okay. I'll take care of them. But, lets get you out of this tub, alright? You're freezing."

Kate nodded, shifting in the tub to face the M.E., making eye contact for the first time. Her normally bright hazel eyes, shrouded and murky, her lids so swollen that she was peeking through slits.

Lanie frowned, "Kate, did Castle do this to you? Did he hurt you?"

Kate's face screwed up and a fresh set of sobs wracked her body. She covered her face with one trembling, puckered, hand. "Yes, he, he, we did this to each other."

Lanie moved Kate's hand from her face, not fully believing what she was hearing. She knew Castle had changed since Alexis' kidnapping, but was finding it hard to believe that he'd become a batterer.

She cradled Kate's chin. "Did he hit you?"

Kate shook her head. "No. No, nothing like that. We, we had a fight, and then it got, well it got physical, but not..." Kate started crying again and couldn't finish her sentence.

Lanie stood up then leaned over the tub, reaching for Kate's hands. "C'mon sweetie, stand up for me."

Kate placed both hands in Lanie's and she slowly stood up, Lanie schooled her features, noting even more cuts on Kate's thighs, and shoulder, her neck was peppered with welts and what looked like hickeys, there were a couple on her breasts as well, and Lanie was beginning to understand what might have happened.

Kate stepped out of the tub, still holding onto Lanie's hands until her friend let go of one to grab a towel. Kate stood, naked, shivering, exposed, her body hunched over like a feral cat, her hands laying limply at her sides, while Lanie gently dabbed at her tender skin with the soft towel, small dots of blood marring the fluffy white cotton. Then she wrapped it around Kate's middle and guided her to sit on the lidded commode. She took another towel and rubbed her hair, then wrapped it around Kate's shoulders.

"I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to send Javier to the car for my medical kit."

Kate's head snapped up, the first time she'd made any kind of sudden movement, and asked, "Espo's here?" She looked worried, a line forming between her swollen eyes.

"Yes, we were at dinner."

"Lanie, I don't want him to see me like this."

"I know, don't worry. I'm going to send him away. It's going to be just you and me tonight. Okay?"

Kate nodded.

In the kitchen, Javier was sitting on a stool, absently flipping through a news journal he'd found on Kate's coffee table.

"How is she?"

"Javier, something terrible happened to her, to _them_. I need you to go down to the car and get my medical bag out of the trunk. And then, you need to go find Castle. I suspect he's injured, too."

Javier jumped up, his eyes dark. "What? Were they attacked?" He looked past Lanie towards the door leading to the bedroom, moving towards it. Lanie placed one gloved hand against his chest to stop him.

"No. But, she's cut and bruised, and it happened when she and Castle were, ah, fighting."

Javi's eyebrows shot up, "What?"

"I don't know the whole story yet."

"Did Castle hit her? Did he...?"

"Javier, I don't think it was like that, but I don't know. You need to go find him, see if he's okay."

He pursed his lips, his eyes darting to the bedroom door, "If he hurt her, I'll break his neck, Lanie."

"Javi, just go, but don't hurt him, okay? I'm sure he's in enough pain already." She didn't share with him that she suspected their injuries were due to a fit of angry sex, knowing Kate wouldn't want her to, but figured that if her theory was right, he'd realize it himself soon enough.

As she waited for him to bring her medical bag back up to Kate's loft, Lanie put a kettle of water on the burner and searched the cupboards for some tea, finding a stash of peppermint decaf, she grabbed one of the teabags, dropped it into a mug, and when the teakettle started whistling, poured the steaming water into the mug. She rooted through the refrigerator for something to eat, finding only a stack of styrofoam containers with aging take-out food. She shook her head, closing the fridge in disgust, and then reached for a banana that was hanging from a banana hammock on the counter. It would have to do until she could get some proper food into her friend.

She was about to go back into the bathroom when Javier came back, out of breath and panting. He handed her the medical bag.

"Javi, did you run all the way down there and then back up here?"

He leaned over, his hands on his knees, coughing. "Yep," He choked.

She rubbed the back of his neck and he straightened up. She leaned in and kissed him, mewling slightly as she did. "You're a good man, Javier Esposito," she observed.

He smiled, then nodded towards Beckett's bedroom, "You'll keep me posted?"

"Yes. And, when you get to Castle's place, call me, okay? Oh," She reached into the bag grabbing some steri-strips, gauze, alcohol pads, first aid cream, gloves and tape. "I'm thinking you might need some of these once you find him." She side nodded at the bedroom door. "If he looks anything like her."

Javier just looked at the medical supplies in his hands, then back up to her. "God, really? It's that bad?"

She nodded soberly, then leaned in to kiss him again.

* * *

**J**avier wished he could have used his gumball to get to Castle's place, but he was driving Lanie's car so he had to obey the damn traffic lights, although he ignored the speed limit whenever he could, dodging and weaving his way through Manhattan's late evening traffic with the skill of a Nascar champion.

When he finally arrived at the swanky condo, he pulled out Lanie's M.E. parking credentials and parked in a loading zone. He badged his way past the front desk and into the elevator.

It took five minutes of solid banging before Castle finally opened the door, and when he did, Javier was practically knocked backwards by the pungent smell of booze radiating from the mystery novelist.

"Dude, jeez. Did you drink a whole case?" Javier breezed past Castle and into the loft, waving his hand in front of his nose, immediately noticing the shattered glass on the floor, the stain that spread from the center of the pile. A shirt, he figured it was Castle's since the writer was currently topless, sat in a heap near the cart.

Javier spun around, getting his first good look at Castle, then frowned. "God, Castle, bro, your arms."

Castle swayed in front of Javier, his eyes unfocused, his mouth hanging open. Both arms were covered in blood and he held them up in front of his face as though seeing them for the first time. "Huh," he said. Then dropped them to his sides. "What are you doing here, Espo?" He slurred, stumbling forward slightly but catching himself before he fell.

"Lanie sent me. We were just at Beckett's."

Castle snorted. "You gonna beat me up?" He stumbled again, but this time couldn't right himself and Espo had to hold him up.

"Looks like you've managed to do that all by yourself," Javier answered, doing his best to keep Castle from falling. "C'mon, man, sit down." He guided his friend to the couch where Castle fell onto it in a heap.

"I'm going to need reinforcements, I can see. You sit tight, don't go anywhere." Javi pulled out his cell phone and punched the familiar number from his contacts list, crossing the room to the kitchen where he rummaged through the cupboards, looking for coffee grounds. The party on the other end of the phone answered with a crisp _hello._

"I'm going to need your help. Can you get to Castle's?"

Thirty minutes later, Castle passed out on the couch, Javier opened the door and Ryan stepped in, then stopped, waving his hand in front of his nose. "Jeez, it smells like a distillery in here!"

Javier pointed at Castle, then at the dried puddle on the floor. "Scotch."

"What the hell happened?" Ryan asked, peeling off his coat and tossing it on a nearby chair. He took a closer look at Castle, frowning at the dried blood on his arms. "Jesus, what did he do to his arms?"

Javier pointed at the broken glass. "I'm pretty sure it had something to do with that," He paused, unsure of whether to fill Ryan in on the rest, then deciding on full disclosure. "Beckett has similar injuries." He stated matter-of-factly.

Ryan looked from the pile of glass to Castle to Javier. "Huh?"

Javi simply raised his eyebrows, waiting for Ryan to put the pieces together, which he quickly did, nodding his head, mouthing _ohhhh _as his eyes grew wide. This wasn't really something he particularly wanted to know about Beckett. Nor, he thought, something she'd _want_ him to know.

Javier handed Ryan a plastic garbage bag with holes cut in the bottom and corners. "Put that on," he instructed, pulling one over his own head, his arms sliding through the holes he'd cut on either corner of the bag. "Take these." He handed Ryan a pair of exam gloves.

"What? Why?" Ryan asked, eying the bag suspiciously, grabbing the gloves.

"We have to get him into the shower."

"What?" Ryan asked, a disgusted look taking command of his normally jovial features.

"Well, how else are we going to get him cleaned up? Look at him, he's a mess!"

"Why do _we_ have to do it?" Ryan complained.

Javier gestured around the apartment impatiently, "Do you see anyone else here that can do it?"

Ryan looked once more at the bloodied, sleeping Castle, and pulled the bag over his head. "Well, no. But," he frowned, "I draw the line at taking off his clothes."

Javier rolled his eyes, shooting his partner a dirty look. "Whatever. C'mon, help me get him up."

The two men each grabbed Castle from under the arms and hoisted him up. "Wake up, Bro! Time for a shower!"

Castle opened one eye, "Wha-?"

They had him on his feet, but he was unsteady, his head rolling back. Ryan struggled to bear the writers weight. "Dude, have you gained weight? God, he must weigh a ton!"

"Just, come on, let's get him to the bathroom."

In the bathroom, Ryan turned on the shower while Javier kept Castle propped up against a wall. "Take off your pants, Castle." Javier instructed, the writer doing as he was told, shoving his jeans down his legs, then clumsily stepping out of them. Javi kept one hand on Castles chest, keeping him upright against the wall. He looked away, "Now the boxers."

"I'm flattered, Javi, but you're not my type." Castle joked, his words slurred.

"Ha ha, very funny, now take 'em off!"

Castle hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down his legs until they were scrunched up at his ankles. Then he toed his socks off, struggling with the left one until Ryan reluctantly bent over and pulled it off, deliberately casting his eyes away from Castle's junk.

Javi and Ryan each took an arm, doing everything they could to keep their eyes straight ahead, and shoved Castle under the steaming shower spray. He instantly leaned against the cool tile of the shower stall, letting the water cascade down his broken body, then he put his hand to his mouth, his eyes wide.

"What?" Ryan asked warily.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." Castle exclaimed, stumbling out of the shower stall and kneeling in front of the toilet just in time.

Javier raised his eyes to the ceiling, Ryan held out one hand, trying to block the image of Castle's naked body draped over the toilet seat. When the retching stopped, Ryan flushed the toilet and the two men hoisted Castle to his feet, returning him to the shower spray where he again leaned against the tile, relishing the heat of the scalding water.

Ryan glanced at Javi, who had one gloved hand on Castle's back as he stood just outside the shower stall, water dotting the black garbage bag covering his shirt and tie. Ryan had a washcloth in his hand and was attempting to gently wash the blood from Castle's left arm. "Dude, when this is all over with and Castle is Castle again? He's going to owe each of us a _week_ with the Ferrari."

Javier held out his fist and bumped it against Ryan's, "You said it, bro."

* * *

**L**anie had removed the glass shards from Kate's back, placed steri-strips on the largest cuts, and then bandaged them. She led her friend to the bedroom where she removed the towel from around Kate's body and helped her slip into a clean mid-length, long-sleeved nightshirt and warm fluffy robe.

Kate had consumed the entire mug of peppermint tea, the soothing liquid warming her, and she was beginning to feel human again as she and Lanie took a seat across from each other at Kate's dining room table. Lanie had found a can of lentil soup in Kate's cupboard and insisted her friend eat it.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm warm again." Kate replied, eating a spoonful of the soup, then pushing the bowl away from her. "I'm sorry, Lanie. I just don't think I can eat."

Lanie frowned, but didn't protest. "Kate, do you want to tell me what happened, now?"

Kate rested both elbows on the table, cradling her head in her hands. "I couldn't get through to him," she whispered. "You should have seen him, he was so angry, in so much pain. And, he said these horrible things to me, Lanie, horrible things _about_ me." She shook her head, shuddering at the memory of it, fresh tears rimming her already sore and swollen eyes.

Lanie reached across the table, touching Kate's elbow. "I'm so sorry, Kate."

Kate straightened up, accepting Lanie's outstretched hand. "Thank you." She managed a weak smile.

"What are you going to do?" Lanie asked, squeezing Kate's hand.

Kate shook her head. "I don't think there is anything I can do. I think we're _over_." Her voice cracked at _over_ and she dissolved into another round of sobs, her face screwed up, her body tense and shaking. Lanie came around the table to sit beside Kate, cradling her friend in her arms until the crying stopped.

Kate wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. "I think I'd just like to go to sleep now."

Lanie nodded. "I'm staying with you."

"No, Lanie, you don't need to do that."

"I'm doing it, Kate. I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

Kate knew better than to argue, nodding as she stood up. "Let me get you something to sleep in."

Lanie laughed and Kate turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"Kate. Look at us. Do we look like we wear the same size?"

Kate chuckled, realizing it was the first genuine laugh she'd had all day, all week, for that matter. She hooked her arm through Lanie's. "Well, I'm sure we can find something that will work. C'mon."

They started walking towards the bedroom, when Kate sighed. "I guess we're having an old fashioned slumber party, eh?" She leaned gratefully against Lanie and whispered, "Thank you."

* * *

**C**astle woke up, wearing a pair of boxers and a blue t-shirt, his arms bandaged, his head throbbing. He opened one eye carefully, adjusting to the light, then the other. He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of both hands, trying to extricate the gravel that had gathered in the corners there.

He yawned, then groaned, his head protesting the sudden movement of his jaw, then he slowly sat up, blinking, trying to remember the events of the previous day.

When they came filtering back to him from the foggy edge of his hungover mind, he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. After Kate had left, he'd downed several more glasses of scotch. His memory after that was a bit more fuzzy.

He looked at his bandaged arms, his brow furrowing, trying to remember who had taken care of him, he vaguely remembered opening the door for Esposito.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee got him out of the bed and, after using the bathroom and shrugging into his navy bathrobe, he stumbled out of the bedroom, stopping suddenly at the doorway when he saw Esposito sitting on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and the mornings paper in the other.

He looked up, "Morning, Castle. How's the head?"

Castle held out one hand in protest, then lurched forward. "Pounding, so if you could lower your voice that would be much appreciated."

"What. And, miss out on watching you suffer? I don't think so." Esposito stood up and followed Castle to the kitchen. He gestured at the broken glass still scattered on the floor. Javi didn't clean it up, leaving it for Castle to deal with. "Wanna tell me what went on here last night?"

Castle glanced behind him, frowning. "No, not really."

Esposito bit his lip. "Really. I think you owe me an explanation, brother. I think you owe me one hell of an explanation."

Castle turned around, his brow furrowed. "Why?"

Espo looked at the writer with wide eyes. "Why? Did you forget I went to Beckett's before I came here last night?"

Castle winced, feeling like he'd just taken a blow to the gut at the mention of her name. He leaned back against the counter, his hands gripping its edge. "So, she told you?"

Esposito took a step closer. "I didn't get a chance to talk to her. Lanie sent me over here to check on you. Good thing too, cuz by the look of it you were about to drown yourself in a case of scotch."

Castle pulled a mug from the cupboard and poured some coffee into it, taking a sip as he turned around and then setting it down on the counter to cool. He shook his head, "I'm fine, Espo. So you can go home now. What happened between Beckett and me is between Beckett and me!"

Esposito took two steps forward and roughly shoved Castle against the counter, knocking him off balance so he almost fell. Javi dug his finger into the middle of Castles chest, their faces inches apart, Javi's eyes blazing. "Not when you hurt her, it isn't!" He accused.

"Espo!"

"She wasn't as bad as you," He pointed at Castle's arms, "But according to Lanie she was pretty banged up." Esposito took a step back, calming down. "I love you bro, but she's like my sister. If I have to take sides..."

"Wait. Kate was cut? Like me?"

Esposito nodded.

Castle exhaled, closing his eyes. He rubbed his forehead. "God, I'm such an ass!"

Esposito grinned. "Yeah," he agreed, "you are."

"Is she okay? Did she get it.."

"Lanie stayed with her all night. Just like I," he pointed at Castle. "stayed with you."

Castle regarded him, frowning, then softening. "Well, thank you for that."

"Ryan was here too. You're a big dude, it took both of us to get you into the shower."

Castle narrowed his eyes, suddenly remembering. "Oh, God..."

Esposito held both palms up. "Don't worry, we'll never mention it again."

Castle chuckled, managing a weak smile. "I appreciate that." He crossed to the dining room and sat at the table, the mug of coffee cradled in both hands.

Espo grabbed his own mug and joined Castle. The two men stared at each other for a minute before Esposito finally broke through the silence. "So?"

Castle shook his head. "We broke up, Espo. It's over."

Esposito already knew this, having talked to Lanie last night and then again this morning. But, he wanted to hear Castle's side of it. "Why? You two were so good together." He paused, not wanting to dig at an open wound, but knowing he had to. "Is it because of what happened to Alexis?"

Castle looked up, his eyes misty. "No. No, it's not Alexis' fault. It's just. I don't know. Things have changed, Javi. It's not working anymore. _I'm_ not working anymore."

Javier wanted to reach over and smack him, but he resisted. "Man, all this time I've known you and I never knew you were a quitter."

"I know when to fold my hand, Javi." Castle replied, not taking the bait.

"Bullshit."

They stared at each other like they were in a schoolyard contest to see who would blink first. Castle lost. Tears rimmed his eyes and he looked away, embarrassed. He shook his head. "I fucked it up, Javi. I'm no good anymore. I'm not who I used to be. I don't know if I ever will be." He turned to face his friend. "And, she deserves better than that."

Javier leaned closer, "You need to give her more credit than that, Castle. She can help you through this."

Castle stood up, pacing the floor beside the table, his eyes roaming to the dark stain, the broken glass. Flashes of memory from last night skittered past his brain, taunting him. His resentment of her, his growing hatred. He balled his hands into fists, shook his head. "No, no. It's too late for that. I don't want it. I don't want her."

"I don't believe you." Javier calmly stated, even as his temper was rising. Castle was being an idiot. "I know what this is, bro. You think I don't?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You have PTSD."

Castle stopped pacing and stared at Javier. "I don't have PTSD. Don't be ridiculous. I'm just, I've just changed!" Castle argued angrily.

"Yes, you _have_ changed, you've changed because every time you think about Alexis' kidnapping, any time you are reminded of it, you're _re_-_experiencing_ it."

"Espo, you can't get PTSD if you aren't the one who was victimized." Castle dismissed, resuming his back and forth journey in front of the table.

Esposito stood up, grabbed Castle by the lapel of his robe, stopping him in his tracks.

"You _were_ victimized, bro."

* * *

**T**hey hadn't spoken to each other at all in the weeks following. No calls, no texts, no messages, not even an email. Kate took the four days after _the incident, _as she now calls it, off from work, hoping the marks on her neck would fade, needing time to recover emotionally. She'd managed two desperate scheduled-at-the-last-minute sessions with Dr. Burke before returning to the job, determined to get through this break-up with as much of her mental health in tact as possible.

When she did finally return, Ryan and Esposito were particularly accommodating, never questioning her orders, always snapping to attention when she spoke, giving great reverence to her theories, even the really stupid ones, until she couldn't take it anymore and told them to stop it.

She just needed some normalcy in her life. It was bad enough she and Castle had broken up and that she was now without a partner, she didn't need those two acting weird on top of it.

But as the weeks passed, she still caught them giving her worried glances from time to time. One of them, she suspected Javi, had exchanged the side-chair at her desk with a different one, probably because they'd caught her, on more than one occasion, gazing at it forlornly. They'd probably thought it would help, which was sweet. But, it didn't. It only made her more keenly aware of his absence.

Even Gates had been sympathetic, not probing when Kate explained that Castle wouldn't be assisting her on cases anymore. Kate appreciated it, knowing that her Captain was aware of the relationship she'd had with Castle, but had discretely tolerated it.

And so on this, another lonely afternoon, with no active case on which to work, Kate had left the Precinct at a decent hour, managing to get home before the sun went down. She stopped in the mail room of her building before heading up to her loft and spied a package resting against the wall beneath her box, neatly addressed to her. The name on the return address caused her heart to skip a beat.

_R. Castle. _

She flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time, not having the patience to wait for the elevator and stumbled into her loft, tossing her bag and jacket onto the floor, throwing the rest of her mail onto the kitchen counter. She took the package to her tiny home office, and, using a letter opener, cut through the tape on the box. She hesitated for a beat before opening it, catching her breath. Then sat down and pulled the lid open.

Her heart pounded mercilessly against her ribcage, tears rimmed her eyes, and she closed them, praying for strength before she dared look into the box.

Her mouth fell open.

She pulled out a folded note that was resting on top of the other items, salty tears already spilling down her cheeks.

She unfolded the note, immediately recognizing his neat penmanship, and covered her mouth as her eyes scanned the page.

_Kate,_

_I thought you would want these things back. I considered dropping them off at the Precinct, but didn't want to risk seeing you. That would be...just too hard. _

_I hope you are well. I miss you. _

_Rick._

She sat in stunned silence for a full minute before gently placing the note on her desk. She rooted through the box. A nightshirt, some moisturizer, a Nebula 9 DVD - which was really a present for him, but he clearly didn't want it - some make up and her dog-eared copy of _Frozen Heat._

She closed the box back up and shoved it under her desk, then picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialed the familiar landline number.

"Hi. It's me. I'm not letting you do this. I'm coming over."

* * *

**C**astle placed the phone back in it's cradle. Stunned. He stood rooted to his spot at the kitchen counter and looked around the loft, his eyes resting on the dark stain by the drink cart that still marred the expensive hardwood floor.

He scrubbed his five-o'clock shadow, then turned to the attractive woman who was sitting at his dining room table.

He was going to have to cut this short.

Kate was on her way.


	4. Coming Together

**Follow Me Into Darkness  
****Chapter Three: Coming Together**

**By Dana Keylits**

She drained the glass of scotch then turned in her chair to gaze out the window, noticing with disinterest that the late afternoon sky had turned into dusky evening. She'd abandoned the idea of sending him an email. What would she say? 'Castle, I want you back, but I see you've started dating someone else?' Entirely too petulant and adolescent for her liking.

Her eyes narrowed involuntarily and she stared blankly out the wide window. The Manhattan skyline glowed against the dark backdrop of night, and she sighed, feeling as lost, as alone, as the few speckled stars that dotted the sky above.

Of _course_ he was dating someone else, she self-pityingly thought, frowning. Why else would he have sent her that package _now_? He'd found someone he wants to be with, and to do that, he would have to extricate her from his life as completely as he could.

Isn't that exactly what she had done with _Josh_ so she could be with _Castle_? Granted, there was almost a year between those two events, but still.

She lifted herself from the office chair, taking the bottle of scotch and the now empty tumbler to the kitchen. She'd lost her taste for it, having learned long ago that numbing her feelings with alcohol wouldn't actually _numb_ the feelings. She absently set the glass in the sink and tucked the bottle back in the small cabinet by the fridge before deciding to just ride out the night.

But on her way back to the living room, she passed by the wooden bookcase housed on the long wall of her loft, and her eye was immediately drawn to the collection of Nikki Heat books nestled proudly on the middle shelf. She stopped, cocking her head as she stared at them, remembering where she and Castle had been in the various stages of their unorthodox relationship as each of the crime detective novels, inspired in part by _her_, were being written.

There was an empty spot on the overflowing book case where Frozen Heat should have been displayed. Instead, Castle's latest Nikki Heat novel was currently housed, lovingly dog-eared but hardly forgotten, in a cardboard box beneath her desk. She'd left it at Castle's a long time ago, when she and Javier were still on administrative leave, after she'd asked Castle to read it to her. She'd obviously already read it herself - twice. Castle, having learned early on that she was one of the few people to whom an advance copy must be given, had made sure she was among the very first to review it. But, in spite of her personal familiarity with the mystery novel, and its ruggedly handsome hero and equal parts smart and sexy heroine, she'd also wanted to _hear_ it, particularly the more romantic verses between Rook and Heat, and _more_ particularly, hear it from _his_ lips, in _his_ voice.

Those dramatic readings, and he had been _dramatic_ in his reading to be sure, had produced more than a few nights of horizontal adventure for them. A number of them had been held in the comfortable confines of his expansive bed, as they lay naked together, either before or after, a storm of fantastic lovemaking.

She smiled, remembering.

And, until the reality of their current situation came roaring back to the forefront of her love-addled mind, bringing with it a fresh set of reluctant tears, she reveled in the luminescent warmth of those cherished memories.

She swiped angrily at her cheek, treating the tear that trickled down it as she would an annoying mosquito, registering it as nothing more than a temporary indignation, and let out a long, slow, tortured breath. "Fuck it!" She said to no one - and _everyone_.

"Who cares if he's seeing someone?" The commanding words echoed off the worn brick walls of her loft as she grabbed her keys and jacket, "she's not _me_."

* * *

**H**e was busily scrubbing the dinner dishes and loading them into the stainless steal coated dishwasher when he heard the unmistakable knocking at the front door. His heart immediately leapfrogged into his throat. He'd long ago given up on the idea that she was actually coming over, given that several hours had passed since her unexpected phone call.

He nervously wiped his hands on the dishtowel and crossed the room, pausing to take a breath and calm his heartbeat. He schooled his features then opened the door with a soft _whoosh_ and a squeak.

Only his heart rate didn't calm. In fact it sped up, it sped up so quickly that he was quite sure he was about to pass out before either of them could utter a polite word.

She stood before him, looking stunning as always in sneakers, _sneakers?_ jeans and a cornflower-blue long sleeved t shirt, her chameleon eyes searching his, her expression pained, as pained as he felt, probably. She'd lost weight and that worried him. But she was still radiant and strong and so naturally beautiful, the slopes and curves of her body still gloriously perfect, her caramel colored hair still fell softly around the delicate lines of her face. And she still had that captivating effect on him that had him wondering, as he stood there drinking her in, how he'd ever let her leave on that fateful night six weeks ago.

She peeked up at him from beneath the long lashes that framed her eyes and he melted, his life's breath escaping his lungs in one long excruciating exhale.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again, finally whispering, "Hey, Castle."

"Hey," he muttered, unable to think of a coherent thing to say to her.

"How are you?" she asked, a gentle smile bowing her lips

"Ah, I'm good. I'm, ah," he frowned. "Kate, what are you doing here?"

_Oh perfect!_ he thought,_ Great, really smooth, Castle. Nice way to greet her, you jackass._ "I mean, come in. Please, do you want to come in?" He widened the door and it squeaked again. He made a mental note to get that fixed.

She stayed rooted to her spot in the hallway, as though trying to decide what to do or say, then finally shook her head, her curls bouncing in that adorable way they do, and said, "I got your package in the mail today."

He winced. Oh. _Oh_, she's here about that. She was probably there to return _his_ stuff but as he glanced down at her hands, he could see that they were empty. "Oh," he said. "Did I forget to send you something?"

For the briefest of moments a wounded expression captured her features, but she quickly steeled herself, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "No, ah, no, I don't think so."

"Then..."

She looked back up at him, her eyes misty, she was biting her bottom lip in that way that always made him feel crazy inside. "Castle, I'm not sure." She laughed, giggled really, no, more of a half-hearted chuckle. "I..." She raised one arm then let it fall to her side. "I thought we could talk."

He opened the door all the way, expecting it to squeak, surprised when it didn't. "Then why don't you come in, Kate."

She nervously pulled on one earlobe then tentatively stepped into the loft, looking around as though seeing it for the first time. It seems oddly new but reassuringly familiar at the same time. "Everything looks the same," she observed.

He closed the door, ignoring the squeak, and followed her into the room. "Yeah. Well, it's only been six weeks since..." He let the sentence hang as both of their eyes traveled to the ugly stain on the floor that marked the spot of their last, dark, encounter.

She nodded, "True."

He wasn't sure what to say next, neither was she, because they stood about a foot apart, both slowly rocking on their heels. They glanced nervously around at each other, the floor, the ceiling, until he finally gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, "I was going to make a cup of cocoa. Would you...?"

"I'd love one," she answered, smiling, taking a relieved breath.

He returned her smile with an eager boyish grin, his eyes twinkling. She'd forgotten how much she adored his smile, how his eyes glistened, crinkling at the corners. How could she have forgotten that?

She followed him to the kitchen and glided onto one of the tall stools arranged around the kitchen high top. It felt odd, she'd sat at this counter countless times before, but today, today she felt like a stranger to it.

He nervously busied himself with preparing the cocoa while she silently observed him, noticing that he'd lost weight. He looked fit, healthy. He actually looked better than the last time she'd seen him, and she wondered how much the mysterious brunette had to do with it.

"You look good, Castle."

He side glanced at her as he pulled the cocoa from the cupboard, the milk from the fridge. "Thanks. You look good, too."

"You've lost weight."

He nodded. "I took up running."

She frowned. "Really?" She'd never been able to get him to run with her. She secretly wondered how much the brunette had to do with it. "As I remember, you told me running was a mind-numbing activity."

He chuckled as he poured milk into a saucepan. He transferred it to the burner which he set to _medium_. "It _is_ mind numbing," he replied. "Which is precisely why I do it." He pointed at his head. "My mind needed some numbing."

"Ah," she replied, nodding, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

She wanted to bring up the brunette, ask him how long they'd been seeing each other, But she'd have to confess that she _knew_ about her first. Or more accurately, _how_ she knew about her. She shifted in her seat, straightening her back, drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with cool air, and then forged ahead.

"I have a confession," she stated.

"I'm seeing a therapist," he blurted.

They just stared at each other, blinking, then chuckling.

"You're seeing a therapist?"

"You have a confession?"

They shook their heads and fell into an easy laughter.

"You first," he offered, holding his left hand out palm up.

She nodded, "Okay. Um, Castle, I was here earlier today,"

His eyebrows shot up.

"But I went back home, because I saw..."

"You saw Deanna..." he finished for her.

"Deanna," she repeated, frowning.

"Yeah," he explained, stepping closer to her so that only the counter separated them. He tapped his fingers nervously on the marble countertop. "Deanna Troi, she's my therapist."

Kate's jaw dropped. She was not expecting _that_ answer and with an almost audible _whoosh,_ a sense of pure relief washed over her in gentle, healing, waves. "Wait," she wrinkled her forehead, "Deanna _Troi_?" She laughed.

He held up a staying palm, his lips bowed in amusement. "I know, I know. I almost didn't see her because of that."

She was laughing now, hard, her body quaking. "You mean like _Counselor_ Troi from _Star_ _Trek_?"

He joined her laughter, it was infectious and adorable, and he had earnestly missed it. His eyes crinkled and shiny, he replied, "Yes, heh heh, exactly."

They fell into a fit of delightful, naked laughter, Kate leaned back on the stool, holding her sides, shaking her head back and forth as tears streamed down her face. He looked down at his feet, chuckling, then back up at her, and, as their gales subsided, he instinctively reached for her hand and slipped it easily between both of his. It was a familiar gesture, one he knew well, had done many times, but one that now felt familial and foreign in an oddly paradoxical way.

Their laughter abruptly abated as her eyes dropped to confirm the unexpected feeling of their joined hands. They each held their breath as though paralyzed by the timid uncertainty that had thickened the air since he first opened his door and found her standing on the other side of it.

She bit the inside of her cheek, unable to move, then whispered, "Castle."

He let go, blinking nervously. "Right."

She looked up into his eyes, his beautiful baby blue eyes into which she had countless times been lost, and wished she could tell him not to let go. But she didn't have that courage yet, and besides, he'd already stuffed both hands inside the front pockets of his jeans. So, instead, she pointed to the milk on the stove. "That's not burning, is it?"

He jumped, "Ooh," and ran to the stove. "Nope, nope. It's fine. Almost ready." He took the two mugs and spooned a generous heap of cocoa into each, then poured the warmed milk carefully into them, taking great care to make sure they had equal amounts of the chocolatey drink.

He gathered up both mugs in each hand and chin nodded towards the dining room table. "Should we sit there? Might be more comfortable."

She nodded, joining him at the table, at the place that had become _her _spot to his left. "Feels strange," she commented, settling into her seat, blowing on the hot mug so the steam of the cocoa blew sideways over the rim.

He didn't have to ask. He knew what she meant. "Yeah, it is." He smiled at her, "...but I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

They smiled at each other, genuine, relieved, but still tentative smiles.

"So," she placed the ceramic mug on the place mat in front of her. "you found a therapist."

He nodded, "I did. Started seeing her about a week after, um, after you and I, ah..."

"Broke up," Kate finished for him.

He swallowed. "Yeah," then took a sip of his cocoa.

"Is she good? Is she helping you?"

He wiped at his bottom lip with the tip of one finger. "Yes. Yes, She's um, she knows her stuff."

"Good," Kate replied. "That's important."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, unsure of what to say or how to say it or if it _should_ be said, until Kate sliced through it by asking, "Castle, do you think we can fix things?" She inhaled deeply, "Between us? Do you think we can repair it?"

He had desperately wanted to ask the same thing but didn't think he'd had that _right_, since it was _his_ fault they weren't together anymore.

"I, Kate, I don't know," he choked, surprised by the sudden emotion in his voice. "...but I'd like to try."

She reached across the table and gently touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. "Good," She replied. "Me too."

They soon fell into an easy, spirited, emotional, conversation about what their lives had been like over the last six weeks. She told him about Lanie, noticing the profound guilt that skittered across his face as she'd described how the M.E. had tended to her wounds. He told her about Ryan and Esposito, and they laughed at the image of the two smaller men struggling to help Castle into the shower. Agreeing that this was an act of pure friendship on the part of the two detectives. Also agreeing that Castle was now deeply in their debt. "I'm sure the Ferrari will be involved in my debt repayment," he'd joked.

Then Castle had admitted that he'd been in contact with Esposito, and was surprised when Kate said she already knew.

"Javi is an extremely loyal friend. He didn't want to take sides, to choose, so he asked me if it was okay with me that he continue his friendship with you."

"I'm glad you said yes."

"Well, I could see it was important to him, and, I knew that he'd understand what you were going through."

Castle nodded, tipping the mug back and drinking the remnants of his cocoa. "He helped me a lot."

"Yeah, he helped me, too. When I was going through," she paused. "When I had PTSD."

Castle stiffened. She'd never actually said that to him before. Even though he knew she'd gone through it, she'd never confirmed it to him. Never talked about how she'd gotten past it, although she _had_ told him she was seeing a therapist. It was a big deal that she'd said it just now. He knew this. "That's what I was diagnosed with, Kate. PTSD. Javi got me through some dark nights."

"I'm glad that he helped you, Castle." She looked up at him sharply, her eyes glassy and pained. "I just wish that I could have helped you, too. That you would have _let_ me help you."

"Kate, I couldn't. I..." He searched for the right words, "I didn't want you to follow me into darkness."

She squeezed his hand, leaning close. "But I did, Castle. I _did_ follow you into darkness."

* * *

**A**n hour and a half, and another serving of cocoa, later, they were still talking. Their awkwardness gone, the false bravado with it, and they'd lay bare everything they'd felt or thought or wondered about what had happened between them. For the last twenty minutes they'd held hands, wanting a tangible way to tether themselves to each other, even if they weren't ready for more.

When Kate drained the last of her second mug of cocoa, she looked up at him wearily and smiled. "I think..."

She was interrupted when his phone chimed. He released her hand and yanked it from his back pocket, glancing with irritation at the screen until he saw who it was. He held the phone up, "Alexis. I need to take this."

Kate nodded.

He got up from the table and wandered into the living room to take the call. His tone sounded easy, cheerful, not the panicked pressured tightly wound father she remembered from six weeks ago.

She pushed back from the table, lifting herself from the chair and scooped up their mugs to take to the sink. She rinsed them out with soapy water and then placed them on the top rack of the dishwasher. When she turned around, she was startled to find him approaching behind her, tucking the iPhone into his back pocket.

"How is she?"

"She's good. Seems happy."

"How are _you_?"

"I'm," He circled towards her. "I'm okay. It's easier now." He stood inches from her, basking in her soft sensual aura. "A lot less crazy," he laughed nervously then raked his fingers through his tuft of thick hair before pulling on one earlobe, squinting at her. "I still worry about her. I always will. But, the anxiety is gone, that gut-wrenching panic that had me..." He paused, she knew what it had him doing. Evidence of it still marred his hardwood floor. "It's gone, now."

She inhaled the sent of him, they were standing so close. He smelled so familiar, so missed, so comforting and intoxicating, yet, at this moment, so dangerous, too. It pulled her, drew her in to him. She sipped it, closing her eyes to fully savor it. "God, I missed you so much, Castle," she finally breathed.

His strangled response was almost inaudible, "I missed you too, Kate." He stepped closer, and with a trembling hand, palmed her cheek.

It was as though time were standing still, neither of them moved, spoke, they barely _breathed_. He absorbed her scent, she his touch. The air around them stalled, they were bathed in the moment, this time and place. They wrapped themselves in its embrace, each of them fully aware of what it meant, where it was taking them. If they had been characters in a movie, the camera would have been slowly spinning around them on a circular track, the dramatic music, perhaps a solo piano, cresting as her eyes met his, and his met hers, and everything else was held frozen in time, every particle of dust halted in midair, and all that existed, all that was alive, was _them_.

He broke the spell and pulled her into him, his mouth on hers, his hand at the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his middle, stumbling against him when their kiss deepened, his tongue gently parting her lips. He groaned, she whimpered. They parted, but only just. Their foreheads touching, he gently tilted his head so his nose caressed hers, his breath warm, soothing, familiar against her skin.

"I'm so sorry, Kate."

"Me too," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"I'm still not whole, I'm still not _me_. I wake up at night, terrified that I'll lose her again..."

She pulled away, framing his face with her hands, gently thumbing the unexpected tear that trickled down his cheek. "Castle. I'm here. I'm _right here_."

* * *

"**Y**ou're trembling," he observed, caressing her back as they stood at the foot of his bed. "Kate, we don't have to do this. We can just..."

She silenced him by placing one finger over his lips. "I want to do this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Because we can go slowly..."

"I'm sure." She raised both hands to his face. "I _want_ to be with you, Castle."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she gave him a warning stare. "I want _you_," she declared, capturing his mouth with hers in a soft, unabashed kiss. "I want _this_," she whispered against his lips. "I want _us_," she pressed her body into his and he stumbled backwards onto the bed.

He gripped her at the waist as she stood before him, warm and trembling, and gently lifted her shirt, exposing her soft skin. He pressed his lips against her bare abdomen, moaning. He'd missed her, he'd missed her so much the hurt of it was almost unbearable and he whimpered, clutching her tightly.

She exhaled slowly, feeling dizzy from the contact of his lips on her flesh, and, using both hands, curled her fingers through his hair, pulling him even more firmly against her.

He pushed her shirt further up, "Take this off," he requested, and she pulled away from him so he could push her top up and over her head. He caressed her skin with eager hands that stroked and kneaded, and she lowered herself onto his lap, her legs straddling him, her arms wrapping around his neck, as he used his tongue to explore her throat, her chin, her lips, _especially_ her lips.

They kissed like it was their first time, their mouths hot and eager, wanting, desperate. His tongue snaked along her bottom lip before gently parting her lips and exploring the inside of her mouth. She tasted sweet, like vanilla, and he savored the taste of her. Familiar and new at the same time.

His lips moved her, seeking her, he teased, probed, tantalized her tongue with his, and she became achingly aware of the too-long absent tingling that was spreading low in her belly. He kissed her shoulder, and moved down her arm until his mouth found the inside of her elbow. His tongue licked the tender skin, his lips kissed wetly. Her whole arm vibrated with pleasure, and she could feel the pressure building in her center as she sat against the warmth of his lap.

He moved to her wrist, his tongue examining every millimeter of sensitive skin, until he left it to kiss her palm, lingering, then he sucked on one finger, gently biting its tip as he moved it out of his mouth.

She rocked against him, her desire growing more urgent, and the expansive room suddenly felt small and warm to her, like a cocoon. She felt safe.

And loved.

Her hands began to move of their own wisdom, deftly unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time while he watched her with hooded, grateful eyes. Their breaths were coming in short quick pants as the carnal anticipation boomeranged between them. Her hands trembled as she disrobed him, letting his shirt fall on the bed behind them, and she explored his upper body, already warm and flushed with desire, her hungry touch leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake, her fingertips tracing the outline of his clavicle before exploring his face as though _seeing_ it with her fingertips like a woman struck blind. He closed his eyes as she inserted one finger into his mouth. He sucked and licked it, and then she replaced her finger with her lips, her tongue, probing and hot, seeking answers to unspoken questions. His reply a long moan, a hot mournful breath.

His hands trailed up from her behind, around the slope of her hips, the dip of her wast, the strum of her ribcage, the curve of her breasts, mapping her body that was familiar yet subtly changed from the weight she'd lost. He hooked his fingers beneath the straps of her beige lacy bra, pulling them down her shoulders, her arms, his fingernails lightly scraping her skin. He cupped her breasts and she wriggled against him, drawing a sharp breath as his thumbs encircled her hardening nipples. He leaned in and scraped his teeth over them, first the left, then the right, the sensation of it diffused by the fabric of her bra.

He reached around her with both hands and expertly unclasped the lacy garment, letting it fall on his lap between them. His hands greedily covered both breasts and she arched back, her long chestnut hair tickling the small of her back. He moved one hand around her waist, stabilizing her, then he blew very gently on one nipple as his hand covered the other breast, his thumb slowly rolling the end of the nipple, elongating it. She groaned, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to her groin. She was getting wet, the pressure building, climbing, spreading throughout her body.

"God, Kate," he choked, "I've missed you, _this_, _us_." He felt new and ancient at the same time, unsure he'd be able to process the flood of emotion that was building within him.

"I've missed us too," she panted, writhing beneath his erotic touch. He took one nipple into his mouth, teasing, sucking, gently pulling it and the muscles deep within her spasmed in response. She squirmed with need.

He felt it, too, and he gently moved her up his lap so his groin pressed into hers. She gasped when she felt his erection, and then rocked against it, smashing her chest against his, her arms wrapped firmly around his neck, his arms solid around her slim waist.

Then in one fluid movement, with arms and legs of unusual strength, he picked her up, spun around, and lay her deftly on top of the bed. Then he scooted back down the mattress and stood at its foot to gaze at her, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. She had one knee up, both arms above her head against the pillow, her eyes hooded, her smile crooked, her breasts heaving. He grinned, then grabbed her foot and untied the laces on her Chucky-Ts, shoes she rarely wore, preferring heels, but she'd decided to keep it casual today. He pulled off the shoe and sock, then playfully scraped the instep of her foot with his thumbnail, sending shockwaves up her leg, the sensation of it echoed between her legs. She groaned, then wiggled her foot free from his grasp. He chuckled, softly, before grabbing the other foot and doing the same.

He crawled back up the bed towards her, stopping at her waist where he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged down its zipper. He slipped one hand through the opening, wiggling his fingers against the tight fabric until he could cup her. She was warm and ready, and his fingers curled against her, teasing, exploring, renewing their claim to this intimate part of her.

She bucked against his hand, her eyes fluttering shut, a soft moan escaping her parted, full, lips. Her skin was burning. She was flushed, too hot, too cold, and she clawed at the duvet beneath her.

He lay down beside her and his hand trailed up from her sex, her belly, her breast. He teased one finger into her mouth, and she sucked it, swirling it with her tongue, her eyes on his. Then they kissed. His fingers fanned out along her throat, his tongue joining hers in a languid, lusty waltz.

He rose up on his knees, grabbed at the waistband of her jeans and tugged them off, then he quickly took off his own jeans, adding them to the mound of garments already piled at the foot of the bed. On his way back, he slowly slid his hand along the long gentle slope of her shapely leg, scraping his fingernails along the inside of her thigh as he approached her sex, his fingertips dancing outside the silky fabric of her panties.

She shifted her hips, chasing after him.

He lay on top of her, his body solid and masculine - harder than she remembered it, more muscular, and slid one leg between hers, gently guiding her long legs apart. His hands exploring her hot skin, his lips traveling up her body, leaving a path of quivering flesh as her fingers dug into the muscles of his biceps and she wiggled beneath the weight of him, his erection hard against her hip.

"Castle," she whispered, trembling again. She was afraid and confident, safe and endangered, and all she wanted was for him to make love to her. Now. Right now.

He palmed her cheek, his baby blue's searching her eyes, seeking permission. "You're shaking, Kate. We can stop..."

"No," she cried, hooking one leg securely around him, "No, I want you, I..." she reached between them, her hand finding his erection, caressing it over the silken fabric of his boxers. "Make love to me, Castle. Now."

He paused a beat, scanning her face for any uncertainty, and finding none, sat up and tugged her panties off, throwing them on the floor. Pulling off his boxers, his erection sprang free, and she instinctively took it into her hand, her fingers curling around its girth, caressing him. He moved between her legs, spreading them farther apart, then hovered over her, hesitating.

She smiled, her eyes meeting his, she reached up and caressed his cheek, nodding, giving him the final permission he seemed to still need. He was being so careful, so gentle, so considerate of her, that she knew the pain of their last time together still haunted him, tugged at the guilty corners of his heart. She curved her hand behind his head, pulling him towards her. But she didn't kiss him, she put her lips to his ear, and whispered "I won't break. It's okay, Castle. I _want _ this, I..." she held her breath, then whispered, "I love you."

He met her forgiving gaze with glassy unfocused eyes, his face contorted into a mask of residual pain, but laced with joy. And then he kissed her, his tongue laving her lips, his breath warm and sweet. "I love you, too, Kate. I'm so sorry I wish..."

She pressed one finger against his lips, "Shhhh," she ordered, then reached between them again and took him into her hand, purring, "I need you, Castle. Now."

He slid into her, and she moaned with the fullness of him.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, her eyes shut, her hands on his forearms. He stayed still, letting her acclimate to the feeling of him inside of her. Then, he eased back with exquisite slowness, pausing, then thrust back into her. She cried out, raising her knees, crossing her ankles at his back.

"Oh, God. Castle" she moaned.

He moved onto his elbows, his hands at her hair, his lips kissing her chin, her cheeks, her forehead, she was warm, sweaty, and she tasted salty. He moved his pelvis languidly back and forth and she rose to meet him, her hips keeping pace with him. He sped up and she moaned. He set a relentless rhythm, but she kept up, her hips moving in near perfect synch with him and she could feel the orgasm begin to build deep within her.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her body as the pleasure built and pulsed and hummed between her legs. She felt close, she felt too close and she moved her hands to his back, pressing into his flesh. "I'm almost there, Castle," she whispered, and he moved even faster, his breath strangled and thready. She started to stiffen against him, anticipating the burst of pleasure that was about to wash over her like a tsunami, and then it came, _she _came. Her orgasm was sudden, intense, pulsing from deep within her and radiating outward with such completeness that she swore she could feel it in her fingertips.

Her inner muscles gripped him as he paused inside of her, vibrating against him with each orgasmic contraction, and he stayed still, plunged deeply inside of her, until she had calmed, her breathing had steadied, and he could feel her muscles loosen their hold on his erection.

She moved one hand to caress his cheek, the other she ran through his hair, in a strangled, low voice she urged him, "keep going, Castle. I want to feel you _come_."

He groaned, planting his lips on hers before slowly circling his hips, his penis still thrust deep inside of her. He inched his way out, before easing back in and within a few seconds he'd returned to his punishing rhythm in and out of her, until he, too, felt the familiar rise in his belly, the gentle stirring that was building and intensifying.

He could barely breath, he could barely think or feel or understand anything beyond the space of his bed, the arc of their bodies working together to achieve such heights of pleasure, of love, of healing and forgiveness. And as his orgasm approached, he simply whispered her name over and over with every deep thrust of his penis, until he'd poured himself into her.

After a minute, he carefully pulled out, rolling onto his back, one hand laced with hers as he panted and caught his breath. She swung one sweaty leg over his thighs and coiled around him, her head on his chest, listening to the rapid pounding of his heart. She traced a small scar on the underside of his forearm with the tip of her forefinger. "This is new," she remarked.

He looked at it, nodding. "Yeah. It was from..." then he paused. "I bet you have one or two of these too, don't you?"

She fingered the scar gently, "yes," she answered, knowing it was going to cause him pain.

He rose up on one elbow, turning to his side, "let me see."

"Castle," she protested.

"Kate. Please, let me see."

She regarded him. He wasn't going to let her out of his bed until he'd seen her scars so she sat up, gathering her hair so he could see her naked back. He sighed and fingered the two puckered marks that now dotted the porcelain skin near her spine, right around her bra line. She felt his lips brush them as he gently kissed her.

"Are there any more?" he asked.

She laid back down beside him, then pointed to her shoulder. He kissed that one too. It was smaller and less angry looking than the two on her back, but still unmistakable.

He caressed her cheek again, bringing his lips to hers for a brief sweet, reconciliatory kiss.

"Kate, can you ever forgive me? I am so sorry for..."

She covered his hand with hers and looked up at him from beneath her impossibly long eyelashes. "Castle. You don't need to ask for my forgiveness. It took the both of us that night..."

"I'm not just talking about then, I'm talking about not trusting you, about not letting you in."

She nodded, smiling at him. "I already did."

He shifted in the bed so he lay partially on top of her, his head cradled between her breasts, one arm sliding beneath her shoulder. "So, what's next for us? Kate? What are we doing...?"

She kissed his forhead, playing her fingers through his hair, then curling them around the shell of his ear. She choked back her own emotion to answer him.

"I think we're saying hello."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was a real labor of love for me. More labor than love, it seemed at times. But, I finally worked it out, in no small part due to the help of Kristy, who listened to me petulantly whine about how I'd lost my mojo. Thanks also to Liv, CB and the gals on Facebook who gave me some tangible advice that actually worked. Only the epilogue left, which should be posted in the next day or so. Thank you for taking this journey with me! I hope you've liked it. **


	5. Epilogue

**Follow Me Into Darkness  
By Dana Keylits**

** Epilogue**

This was her time - the hours just before dawn. She'd always savored the soothing nature of them. Spending those few valuable moments lost in her own, sometimes troubled, meandering thoughts. On days after a tough case, these hours cocooned her in their medicinal solace. While at other times just affording her time to meditate, appreciate, pray.

On this morning, she crept out of Castle's bed, careful not to wake him, picking up his discarded white dress-shirt from the floor and slipping into it, wrapping it tightly around her naked body. She closed her eyes and inhaled, relishing the scent of him that still lingered on the soft cotton, it was a musky masculine scent that sometimes still made her weak in the knees.

After using the bathroom, she padded barefoot, and bare legged, into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. As she passed by the drink cart, and the stain on the floor that still marked the spot of their furious fucking the night they'd broken up, she stopped. A full two months had passed since that night, two weeks since they'd reunited, and although they'd made a lot of progress in the healing of their relationship, Castle was still tortured by that event, and the scars it had left behind.

She toed at the buffer machine he'd rented; he was determined to eliminate the stain from the hardwood himself. He could have easily hired someone to do the work, but he'd said his therapist thought it a good exercise for him to use his own two hands, that it symbolized the progress he'd made in repairing himself, his relationship with Alexis, and especially his relationship with _her_. He'd decided today was the day to finally get it done, because Alexis and Martha were returning from London tomorrow morning and he didn't want to explain, or lie, about the stain.

She sauntered into the kitchen and busied herself with preparing the coffee. She didn't even notice he'd tiptoed behind her until his hands were snaking their way around her middle, his lips nuzzled against her neck. She leaned backwards against him, smiling.

"Good morning," she whispered, reaching back and tousling his hair. "You're up early."

"Mmmm, I missed you." He replied, enveloping her against his boxer clad body.

She turned in his arms, resting both elbows on his bare shoulders, her hands in his hair, and she kissed him. Long and slow and sweet, their bodies arcing towards each other as though they'd been separated for days instead of just minutes. They parted, each moaning, humming, satisfied and full.

She turned back to the coffee maker. "I'm making coffee. I assume you want some?"

"Always," he joked, reaching above her and into the cupboard for the mugs.

She chuckled, amused at the stirring in her belly that that word had always managed to produce. He was leaning against her now, his front to her back, he was fully aroused. She bit her bottom lip, briefly closed her eyes, and then pressed back against him. "You're in a mood this morning." She wiggled her behind, smiling when he groaned.

"You have that affect on me when you're standing here, all long legged and gorgeous in one of my shirts."

She poured coffee into their mugs, then slowly turned around and handed him one. They clinked mugs then each took a tentative sip, careful not to burn their tongues. She crossed one ankle over the other, her toes on the floor, and leaned against the sink. "So, you're really going to buff that floor today, huh?"

"Yep. Sand it, buff it, then re-varnish it." He took a longer sip from his mug.

"I want to help you."

"It's okay, I can do it…"

She looked at him with an earnestness that startled him. "I want to help you." She said again, hoping against hope that he understood her.

He nodded, getting it. He palmed her cheek, "I'd like that, Kate. Thanks."

She smiled broadly at him, revealing a row of glistening white teeth, her eyes shiny. "Why don't we get changed," she fingered the hem of his boxers. "…and then get to work?"

"Or," he started, setting his mug down and reaching for her. "We take advantage of our last day without mother around…" He reached for the top button of the dress shirt she was wearing and slipped it through the eyelet. "…and spend some time…" he undid another button as she watched him with amused eyes and a crooked smile, "…buffing…" he slipped his hand between the shirt and her soft flesh, pushing the fabric away from her body and down her arm, then leaned in and kissed her shoulder, "…each other."

"Mmmm," she purred, her fingers curling under the waistband of his boxers, "…good idea."

* * *

"**I** have lived a charmed and pampered life, in which almost every dream I've ever had has come true," he said, nuzzling against her neck. She was coiled around him, still naked and warm, humming in the afterglow of the early morning lovemaking that had just taken place on his kitchen floor. "Kate, what does it say about me that the first time something really bad happens to me, I completely fall apart?"

Her hand trailed up his chest, her fingers tickled his neck, before she cupped his chin, turning his face towards hers. She kissed him briefly on the lips. "It says that you're human, Castle." She gave him another fluttering kiss. "Just like the rest of us."

He smiled. "The best dream I ever had come true, other than Alexis, was being with you," he confessed.

She playfully rocked against him. "Mine too, Castle."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Do you know how I finally knocked that wall down?" She traced lazy circle eights against his chest, then brushed her mouth over his nipple, a kittenish grin pleasing her lips when he flinched.

"How?"

She searched his eyes. "I finally realized that the greatest tragedy of my life would be to avoid the inevitable suffering of loving with fear."

He leaned back, looking at her with quizzical eyes.

She propped herself up on one elbow, her other hand resting idly at his chest. "I spent so much time chasing my moms case. I spent so much time living in its shadow, letting it define who I was, and how I loved." She shook her head. "Her death became more important than my life."

Castle nodded soberly, tracing his finger along the back of her hand.

"But, last year, Castle, I finally realized that what I was doing wrong was trying to figure out how to love you _without_ fear. And…" she laced her fingers with his, "…it's not possible. Fear is a part of it. It means it's worth having, worth worrying about, worth _risking_." She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. "So, I'm afraid. And, it's okay. It's okay to be afraid. As long as I don't let the fear prevent me from loving you."

His mouth fell open, then he closed it. Then he opened it and said, "You are truly extraordinary, you know that?"

She blushed. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

"C'mon." She ordered, getting up then holding out her hand. "Let's get to work."

He put his hand in hers and let her lead him up from the floor. Then he took her at the waist, pulling her to him. "Thank you, Kate."

"For what?"

"For helping me. Forgiving me. Following me into darkness, then leading me back out."

She smiled, then kissed him.

"Always."

**The End.**

**A/N: Thank you for all of your kind reviews. For reading this story, sticking with it, and following it through to the very end. Special thanks to Kristy, again. Can't thank you enough! **


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